


I Dreamt You (And You Dreamt Me Too)

by samsdawson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Occult, Young Derek, Young Derek Hale, Young Stiles, wolf totem, young Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samsdawson/pseuds/samsdawson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trauma wasn't foreign to sixteen year old Stiles Stilinski. He'd been facing it all his life. But an obsession turns into reclusion until Derek reaches out. Does Derek know more than he lets on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Dreamt You (And You Dreamt Me Too)

Wolves had been present all Stiles’s life. He never thought anything off about it, not for sixteen years. His mother told him that wolves were a sign of intelligence and instinct, two things that should always be acknowledged and utilized. Claudia Stilinski was a firm believer in omens, and anytime one appeared, she’d be sure to tell Stiles about it. He always listened, always remembered.

When Claudia got sick, there was no warning. She was shopping at the supermarket with a four-year-old Stiles in the cart when it manifested. While reaching for a carton of eggs, she suddenly dropped to the ground. She was found unconscious, covered in broken eggs. The workers were drawn to the scene by Stiles’s crying.

John Stilinski never forgave himself for not seeing the signs earlier. His wife had been exhibiting symptoms for nearly a year before it happened. Complaining of severe headaches quite often, Claudia would be bedridden for days at a time, unable to move for fear of worsening her pain. She would often forget everyday things, such as what sort of laundry detergent they used or which drawer housed the silverware in the kitchen, but recently she had been forgetting much more important things. There was even one day that she forgot Stiles’s name. That was a major red flag. His one regret was not realizing it then.

The doctors found the tumor the day of the collapse. When she was admitted to the hospital, John was called to come see his wife and pick up his son, who hadn’t stopped crying since he was found. It was a cloud in the MRI of her brain, a sizable one at that. The doctors were astonished that it hadn’t been an issue sooner. John sat in the hospital room, receiving the information with his head in his hands, his crying son sitting in the seat next to him.

Claudia remained smiling, even at the end. For two faithful months, John visited his wife in the hospital every single day, leaving Stiles with the neighbor Melissa when it was too late to bring him along. She would do her best to keep her eyes open and interact with him, but he could tell it was taking a massive toll on the already low level of energy she had left. Even in her sleep, a smile stayed on her face. The last day he brought Stiles to see her, she sat up in the hospital bed and held him while he told her about the animals at the zoo he saw that day. She smiled as much as she could, powering through the immense pain. When John saw her frame trembling, he interrupted and grabbed Stiles back, but not before Claudia held him close and kissed his forehead. John recommended that Stiles join Melissa out in the hall. She had accompanied them to look after Stiles while John spent time with Claudia. He held her hand while they sat in silence. By the end, she didn’t move. With closed eyes and a smile on her face, she said “I love you.” Claudia Stilinski was gone.

From that day on, Stiles didn’t cry. Not a single tear. His father noticed, but didn’t dare address it. The boy lost his mother, and he lost his wife. All throughout elementary and middle school, Stiles was the perfect student, getting straight A’s each year. John never worried about his son. He didn’t have to. Stiles would wake up in the morning, get himself ready, get on the bus, go to school, ride the bus home, do his homework, make himself dinner, and then go to bed. He took care of himself. John realized the shock of his mother’s death aged him too quickly, but no matter how he tried to convince Stiles to be childish, he never would.

At the age of six, Stiles encountered the wolf. He remembered it in vivid detail after it had gone: thick, dark tawny fur all over, with patches of white on its belly and muzzle. Its eyes were dark brown with strange rings of bright green on the inside and outside of the iris. It was stood in the middle of his room one night, just in front of his dresser and beside the foot of his bed. He could feel the immense heat radiating from the creature although it wasn’t close. A scent reminiscent of sweet sawdust filled the air. Its heavy breathing was audible from the distance as well.

Frozen in fear, Stiles managed to muster the strength to rub his eyes, fearing that he was in an extremely vivid dream-state. Once he brought his hands away, the warmth dissipated and the breathing disappeared, along with the source. He could have sworn it was just a dream. When he awoke in the morning, he noticed large indentations in the rug on his floor, however when he ran his hands over them, they smoothed out as the carpet fibers regained their natural shape.

From that day on, Stiles would randomly smell that same sawdust aroma in his everyday life, unsure of the source. For fourteen years, hints of sawdust permeated the air around him at different times, never forming a pattern or method of detection. He would see those vivid brown and green eyes in his dreams and hear the heavy breathing when it was deadly silent at night. He never saw the massive wolf, but he never forgot it. At the age of fourteen, he began to draw it. Pages upon pages of paper, large and small, were covered with the image of a tawny and white wolf with glowing brown and green eyes. When asked, Stiles would only say, “It’s a wolf,” and continue with his work. He drew the wolf for two years, continuing on into high school.

***

As a sophomore in high school, Stiles had no friends. He spent all his time by himself, drawing his wolf. Even at lunchtime, he would sit off by himself, munch on his food, and draw his wolf. That was how each school day went for Stiles Stilinski until the first day of second semester.

Stiles had spent his break drawing his wolf, what he’d been doing for his entire high school career. His lunchtime was spent as it usually was, until a piece of paper hit the back of his head. He froze for a moment, unsure of what had happened. He brought his head up from his drawing to look around. After surveying the cafeteria for a few seconds, his eyes settled on a boy with black hair and a light tan. Their eyes locked and Stiles’s breath hitched. The boy’s eyes were dark brown with bright green ringing the iris. Even though he was far away, Stiles could see it very clearly. With a smirk on his lips, he motioned downward with his head. Stiles followed and saw a piece of crumpled paper on the floor. He leaned over to pick it up. Once uncrumpled, he read the note:

 

What are you drawing all the time?

You’re very serious.

 

With annoyance building, Stiles crumpled the paper again and threw it over his shoulder, toward the opposite side of the table where he knew no one was sitting.

“Ouch. That almost hurt,” a smooth voice said from the direction of the wad of paper. Stiles jumped in surprise. He whipped around in the direction of the voice and saw the tan boy from before. “All I did was ask a question.”

Stiles grimaced. “You hit me in the head with a piece of paper.”

The other boy chuckled. “In my defense, you just got your revenge. Now will you answer my question?”

“It’s a wolf,” Stiles recited, expecting the boy to lose interest, call him a name, and leave. The boy stood and crossed Stiles’s side of the table, sitting in the empty seat next to him.

“Mind if I take a look?” the boy asked. Before receiving approval, he spun the drawing to face him and studied it, ignoring Stiles’s protestations. The boy smirked again, causing Stiles to quiet. “I like it. Would you draw me one?”

“Uh, sure. I guess,” Stiles responded, caught completely off guard.

“Great,” said the boy as he stood and began to walk away. “My name is Derek, by the way,” he called he over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Stiles.”

Stiles sat astonished. He never told Derek his name. He saw the crumpled paper sitting on the table in front of him. He reached out to read it again, then noticed the script at the very bottom:

 

I knew you would read it again.

Here’s my number.

 

The message was followed up by Derek’s cell number and a crudely drawn smiley face. He crumpled up the paper once again in annoyance, but shoved it into his backpack, making sure to keep it.


End file.
